


That Time an Otter and a Ferret Crossed Paths

by simplifiedemotions



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Hermione has a burgeoning praise kink, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Quidditch Player Draco Malfoy, Romance, Smut, idiots to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-20
Updated: 2021-03-20
Packaged: 2021-03-28 04:21:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30133923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simplifiedemotions/pseuds/simplifiedemotions
Summary: Head Girl Hermione Granger is having sex with fellow Head Boy Draco Malfoy. It's not anything serious, she tells herself. It's Malfoy after all, how could either of them have any real feelings for each other?
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 14
Kudos: 109





	That Time an Otter and a Ferret Crossed Paths

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Birthday, Nayrunoai. I appreciate your friendship more than words can say, and so I'm using those words to give you Quidditch Draco. I hope you enjoy the story, my fellow spoiler heaux who always allows me to send her essay-length texts about whichever topic is niggling in my mind on any given day. I love you 5ever. <3
> 
> Side note: I blushed at certain points of this. You're welcome.

“Have you seen Malfoy tonight?” A girl squealed in a supposedly empty corridor.

“No, but did you see him leave Quidditch practice still wearing his quidditch gear this afternoon?” a second girl said.

The first girl giggled. “Yes, and all of it was poised to take off. I wouldn’t mind helping him remove them completely if he asked.”

“I missed it,” the second girl whined. “But I heard it was quite the show. I heard we have Hermione Granger to thank for it because she was supposedly fuming at Malfoy after practice about some head duties they had and refused to wait for him, so he had to run and catch up after her. They were bickering all the way back up to the castle.”

“Yes! Me and some of the girls were skiving off Divination and saw the whole thing. They were fuming at each other.”

“Speaking of,” there was a pause, “we should head back to the common room before miss perfect catches us.”

“You’re the one who always wants to take the chance of having Malfoy catch you,” the first girl said wryly.

“I don’t see myself walking alone, now do I?” the first girl replied, a smile in her voice.

The second girl huffed, and Hermione rolled her eyes as she heard their voices drift away as they walked further down the corridor, away from where Hermione was in a...rather compromising position that would assuredly mean the end of her title as Head Girl if she was caught.

“Yeah, have they seen me lately, Granger?” came an irritating and gruff voice in the crevice of her neck.

“Shut up,” Hermione said but gasped as Draco’s cock nudged the spot inside her that always made her tighten her arms around his shoulders and muffle a moan in his shoulder. He groaned as her walls clenched around him, and pressed her further into the wall of the barely lit alcove, continuing the maddening pace of his hips against hers.

Ok. So. A compromising position was a massive understatement.

“I’m not the one who pushed you behind a tapestry, Granger. You practically threw yourself at me,” he pointed out.

“Only for some privacy! Ah—Malfoy—you’re the—oh my gods—the one who started kissing me,” she gasped.

“Fuck, Granger,” he groaned when she started nibbling his neck, tightening his arms around the soft skin of her thighs as he drove harder into her. “In my defence, the top two buttons of your shirt were open.”

“Ok, and?”

“Fair enough. You could be wearing McGonagall’s robes and I’d still want to bend you over any available surface.”

“Don’t be crude,” she admonished.

“It’s true, though.”

This was the first time they’d ever had sex vertically, and Hermione found it almost unbearable in the best way. The sensations were too much all at once, and she felt her core spasming each time his cock hit a certain part inside her.

“Those girls—ah—Draco—they’re out past curfew.”

“I don’t think—fuck Hermione—we have any right to write up anybody, considering our current positions.”

Hermione whimpered as Draco brought one hand between them and pressed his thumb firmly to her clit, using his free hand to cover her mouth as she let out a ragged moan.

“That’s not—” she muffled, but broke off when he lightly slapped her clit and she spasmed around him unexpectedly; the sensations were sharp and she had to clutch tightly to Malfoy so that she wouldn’t break apart entirely. That earned her a broken moan from him, and he thrust harshly into her a few more times before he reached his own peak.

“Fuck,” he murmured as they both came down. Hermione dazedly wondered if he felt as emotional as she did each time they had sex, but quickly dismissed the idea.

It was just sex.

Hermione hadn’t meant to start having sex with Draco Malfoy of all people. Certainly not the first time it happened, when a petty argument about their patrol schedules ended with them screaming in each other’s faces about the war and good and bad, and why he was the boy who made all of the wrong decisions and why she was the girl who never made any for herself. She had pushed against his chest when he got in her face, and he pushed her so her back was to the wall, placing his hands on either side of her head in an attempt to intimidate her. When Harry and Ron opted to start Auror training at the Ministry, Hermione decided to return for her Eighth Year at Hogwarts, shining Head Girl badge in tow. To say she was shocked to find that Malfoy was Head Boy was an understatement, and from the beginning of term, they had been at each other’s throats.

Put two frustrated and barely adults in the same space for too long and even they will eventually forget that they’re supposed to be enemies. And so maybe it was the extreme heat of him parallel to the cold stone on her back that made her dizzy, that made her tilt her lips up to his at the same moment he grabbed her by the collar; that made her kiss him bruisingly as he trailed fire across her skin, as she learned him academically, ignoring the pounding of her heart because he was surely only interested in learning the curves that made up her anatomy.

Maybe he had been too hot, too panicked from their fight where she had called him his father’s son, that he craved the cold she brought, her shaking hands that slid into his robes as their kiss deepened, as she brought him closer, as he wrapped his arms tighter around her. They had been in such a frenzy that Malfoy only managed to unbutton his trousers and Hermione only had enough sense to move her knickers to the side in time for him to thrust deep inside her. She had to bite into his shoulder to stop the sharp moan that rose from her throat.

They didn’t make love. It wasn’t an amorous affair. They fucked, taking pleasure from the other in an almost violent manner. He gripped her roughly, digging his fingers into her skin. She nipped his mouth before sliding her tongue against his and tugged at his hair until he hissed in pain.

But then something changed. Suddenly Malfoy’s rough grip became more gentle. He took Hermione’s face in his hands, tracing the curve of her cheekbone as his hands slid into her hair and he pressed his lips to hers. She hated it. While she could accept her body betraying her, her teenage hormones catching up to her, she couldn’t accept that her brain had also flatlined. She couldn’t think, only feel what he was doing to her. And because of that, she couldn’t help the way she responded. Her tight grip in his hair loosened, one hand travelling gently to the curve of his jaw while the other rubbed soothing circles on the back of his neck.

She spasmed around him when he whispered a good girl in her ear, and he followed her soon after, hips stuttering as he came.

After, when Malfoy had set Hermione down with a gentleness she didn’t think he was capable of, his thin lips bee-stung from her rough exploration of them, she felt like she’d just returned from some fever dream, feeling disoriented as she stared up at him. After several awkward seconds, Malfoy had picked up the discarded patrol schedule Hermione must’ve dropped on the floor and muttered that he would file the reports that night, before walking away,

She stared after him as he left, telling herself it was a one-off. It wasn’t going to happen again.

A week later, when Draco walked into their shared dorm with Daphne Greengrass in tow, Hermione felt something unknown and bitter build in her stomach and excused herself to her room without sparing either of them a second look.

Malfoy had knocked on her door later that night and she’d opened it, as unsexy as she could possibly be with her fuzzy socks, that she’d taken from her dad with R2D2 in miniature patterns over it, and a too-long shirt that slunk in a shapeless form around her body. Draco had stared at her for a moment, and she waited for his disparaging remarks on her appearance. Not that she would take any such comment from him, but she didn’t dismiss whether or not he was capable of it. Before she could demand why he was there, however, he pushed inside the room without asking, and before she could even think to be indignant, he backed her up until her knees hit the bed and she toppled backwards onto it. She found her heart beating too rapidly to think, and so didn’t immediately react when Malfoy climbed on top of her.

“Greengrass and I were assigned as project partner’s in Potions, Granger,” he whispered in her ear when she turned her face away from his hot lips. She turned to stare at him, meeting his slate-grey eyes, and felt her cheeks redden at both his expression and the insistent hardness pressing against her stomach. She really, really couldn’t help the way her hips tilted to meet his, wanting to relieve the pressure that had been building all week, and even more so when she saw his eyes darken as he stared down at her.

He had groaned, burying his face in Hermione’s neck as their hips met in harsher thrusts, his cock hitting her clit in the most delicious angle.

She gasped. “And you’re telling me this, why?”

He gave her a knowing smirk, and rolling her eyes, clutched his shirt and brought his mouth down to hers.

After some pleasant rubbing and hurried kisses, Hermione decided that she wanted more.

“Off-off!” she said. He had agreed and took off her shorts and knickers with impressive speed. The socks stayed on, cause she said her feet were cold, and Malfoy chuckled against her calf. She almost kicked him but he started kissing a wet trail up her thigh and she felt like a Brackium Emendo had been cast on her bones because she couldn’t hold her elbows up anymore.

After positioning her hips the way he wanted and sliding inside her, her brain was no longer capable of coherent thought, incapacitated of ability or thought other than him and her, and the way they moved together.

When they had laid panting afterwards, Hermione assured herself again that a one-off was probably just a rounded number, and because neither time involved much foreplay, she could argue that they were playing in halves.

The problem with Hermione’s math, however, was that it happened more than once. And it was certainly several times when she sucked him off in an abandoned classroom and he buried his head in her thighs while she was supposed to be studying in an empty part of the library.

What was worse, in Hermione’s estimation, was the way Malfoy acted towards her in public. He seemed to want to keep...whatever it was that they were doing secret, and she was fine with that, she told herself, but this didn’t stop him from doing other things. He would stare at her when he thought she wasn’t looking, likely to get a rise out of her because whenever she glared at him he would give her a smirk, one that would make her heart pound and butterflies flutter in her stomach. Or he would come to stand next to her in a crowded hall, or sit beside her when they met with the prefects, moving his hand down to hers and sliding his long fingers along the inside of her wrist, rubbing delicate, maddening circles on the thin flesh.

They started having what she remembered Lavender once calling casual sex, but Hermione found that the term didn’t quite fit with what they were. It was far too frantic, emotional; like they were both trying to lose themselves in the other person.

Which led her back to now, where the said blond was tucking himself back in his trousers after they both Scourgified themselves.

Hermione was trying to fix her impossible hair, winching at a tangle that she pulled too tight.

“I like your hair when it’s all wild,” he said.

Hermione snorted. “Sure.”

He gave her a beguiling smirk. “You didn’t even ask me why?”

She frowned, but he didn’t wait for her to answer as he delved his fingers in her hair and leaned down to whisper. “It’s because I know that it’s my hands that made your mane more uncontrollable.”

Hermione’s knees buckled, literally, she really almost slid to the ground, but Draco caught her about the waist and pressed her body to the wall again. She could feel him starting to harden once more and raised her brow at him.

“Are you alright,” he asked, and she felt her cheeks heat at the way he was staring at her. His eyes were still darkened with arousal, but they were also shining in some indiscernible intense way.

“I am. Are you?” she asked, staring pointedly at the way he hardened against her stomach again.

He looked at least somewhat bashful when she narrowed her eyes at him, and stepped back putting space between them. She found that she didn’t like that, but they weren’t dating or anything so she couldn’t exactly tell him that she wanted him to keep holding her.

It was just sex.

A statement she repeated to herself when his slate-grey eyes peered down at her, some unrecognisable flickering in his expression that she couldn’t place and her breath hitched at the intense way he looked at her. Probably lust, if the way he wouldn’t stop touching her was any indication.

Hermione cleared her throat. “I should—I should go file the reports for tonight.”

“You should,” he agreed, sounding reluctant.

His parting, genuine smile made her breath catch, but she shook it away. Moving with trembling legs, with her trembling heart, she made her way to the Heads office.

It was just sex, she reminded herself again.

* * *

The next day, Hermione woke up, feverish from a rather lurid dream about an unnamed blond git that seemed to span the entire night. She shifted and felt the wetness of her core slide against her knickers, creating a wonderful, although annoying, tension. Looking at the clock on her bedside, she was grateful to have woken up earlier than she thought. She slid her hands down her torso, opening her legs as she slid her fingers inside her underwear, and sliding a hand up her shirt to palm her breast.

Close to orgasm, there was a quick knock at the door before Malfoy strode in, and Hermione blanched, frozen at the spot.

“I think you have my potions book,” he said, looking around the room before his eyes landed on her. Malfoy choked when he saw her. She must’ve looked insane, with one hand in her knickers and the other twisting her nipple.

“Granger—”

Her brain jolted finally, and she let out a squeak before dragging her blankets over herself. “Malfoy, get out! Who said you could just come into my room without knocking!”

“I did knock!”

“Only once, you great pillock!”

He laughed suddenly, but she could see the flush creeping up his neck. This was mortifying. “If you weren’t so busy—” she glared at him. “I knocked four times,” he said instead.

Hermione flushed and scurried under the covers. “Get out!” The second resurrection of Voldemort could not get her to come out from under the blankets. Her wand was under her pillow. She could transfigure some food, and Aguamenti would keep her hydrated.

Suddenly there was a dip in the bed and she felt Malfoy try to pull down the covers, but she held tight. He grunted, and there was some twisting and pulling before he ripped the covers off of her.

“Malfoy!” Hermione yelped, twisting her body as they wrestled with each other. Hermione was no slouch in strength, but Malfoy was much larger than she was and she ended up pinned underneath him.

As he stared down at her, his expression hot and intent, her brain had flatlined. All she could see was his silver eyes flitting all over her body, and the way he was hard for her, as he pressed his chest to hers, and oh gods the friction of him against her was enough to make her cry with desire.

“You know. You could’ve just asked me to get you off, ” he said in a cajoling voice.

Hermione felt her entire body heat, but she was still capable of embarrassment. “Oh, my gods stop, before I _accidentally_ Incendio you.”

He smirked. “That hot are you?”

“Shut up!”

He considered her a moment before. “Make room.”

“What?” she squawked, but then Malfoy was prowling towards her, his gaze intent and positively predatory. She tried to back away from him but he dragged her by the ankles back down to him and leaned over her.

“I’m going to be—”

“We have time before class.”

“For sex? No, we don’t,” she argued.

“I didn’t say sex,” he said, tracing his long fingers around her clavicle before letting it skate down her ribs, and resting his hand at her pelvis. He followed the same path with his mouth, stopping at Hermione’s pebbled breasts and taking each nipple into his mouth, he laved the sensitive skin as she threw her head back and moaned.

“What about you?” she asked breathlessly.

“I get to make you come. That’s enough for me.”

Hermione keened and clenched her thighs around his waist, subconsciously rubbing herself against the thigh he slotted against hers. The friction of his trousers against her was delightful against her bare legs and core.

“You’re so sensitive,” he groaned, laving one nipple as his other hand travelled inside her knickers. He stiffened for a moment before letting out a suffering sound.

She looked down at him. “What’s wrong?”

“How long did you touch yourself for?” he gritted out. He was somehow breathing heavier than she was.

The sensation of his breath on her already hot body was making her squirm “I—not long,” she panted.

“God, I want to make your legs shake, Granger.” He kissed a path down her stomach as he grabbed the elastic of her underwear and slid them down her legs. He kissed a maddeningly slow trail up the soft flesh of her thighs, before ghosting his hot breath on the parts he’d made wet with his mouth.

He groaned against her thigh. “Your cunt is so wet.”

“Language,” she tutted.

She could feel him smirk against her, but before she could say anything he licked a long strip up to her clit. He slid two fingers across her folds, and she could feel her legs shaking where he put them over his shoulder.

Her breath hitched, and she couldn’t stop the whine rising in her throat. She wrapped her hands in his hair as he slid his fingers inside her.

“Draco,” she moaned

“You’re such a good girl. So tight and slick for me. What were you thinking of when you had your fingers in your cunt?”

“I—”

“Tell me,” he demanded, curling his fingers in a way that made her bite into her forearm.

“You,” she choked. “Only you.”

“Fuck,” he said and then he sucked her clit tightly. “You’re so snug and wet. I wish it was my cock inside you.”

She screamed, clenching her thighs around his head as she rode out her orgasm.

Bringing her down with his fingers, Draco kissed his way back up, leaving a wet trail of kisses up to Hermione's neck, where he licked at her sensitive skin. Her body was thrumming, but she wanted more.

“Please,” he pleaded as he pressed his lips to hers, smattering kisses against her mouth and jaw, and kissing down the slim line of her neck.

“Yes,” she said, canting her hips towards him as she brought shaking hands to his trousers, unbuckling him.

After divesting himself, kicking off his trouser’s only partway, he opened her thighs to him, muttering a single ‘fuck’ before sliding into her in one single thrust.

He drove into her, his thrusts were unforgiving as he slammed into her. She tried curling her thighs around his hips, but his hands on her knees kept her open to him.

“Draco, I’m—”

He nodded, putting her hand between them and pressing firmly on her clit. That was all it took for her to squeeze and spasm around him. He shouted his release and buried his face in his shoulder.

Hermione would have fallen asleep right there, his warm body solid against her as she curled her fingers to his chest, but then her eyes popped open.

“Oh my god, get off! We’re going to be late.”

Groaning, he obliged, and Hermione had no sense of propriety left as she grabbed her uniform and ran for the shower.

“I’m going to join you,” she heard Draco call.

“Absolutely not!”

They both arrived at class late, and after a small admonishment from Professor Vector, took their seats.

Malfoy’s hair was still a bit damp, and she fought the urge to fix a stray hair from his face.

* * *

Hermione was running. Well. It was against the rules to run. So she walked quickly. Away. From the horde of first-year students who had taken to following Hermione around. Being the only member of the trio back at Hogwarts meant that small children who had heard of the exploits of Harry Potter and co. wanted to learn what it was like to be her.

‘Well,’ she thought miserably. ‘I’m overworked from head duties, I’m constantly studying for my rapidly approaching N.E.W.T.s, and oh! And I’m having sex with someone who should by all accounts be my mortal enemy. And to top it off, I’ve developed such strong feelings for him that I can only define it as devastating.’

She was still thinking of said blond when she finally lost the horde when she turned a corner and ran (WALKED QUICKLY) right into his chest. She yelped, losing her balance. If not for his blessed seeker reflexes saving her from bodily injury—well not completely—she would have fallen back down a flight of steps.

“Ow, ow, ow,” she said, straining to the floor and holding her ankle

Malfoy crouched in front of her and inspected her ankle with a frown. “Why were you running in the corridor?”

“I was walking quickly,” she defended. He rolled his eyes. “First years.”

He sighed knowingly. “I think you’ve twisted your ankle. I’ll take you to the hospital wing.”

“It’s fine I can make it.”

He ignored her, standing up and lifting her to her feet. Hermione winced, standing on her other foot.

“Can you walk or do you need me to carry you?”

She flushed. “No!”

He smiled. “Good girl.”

No, no. She was not going to indulge in whatever those two words in conjunction made her feel. Nope. That could be saved for another time. She let Malfoy put her arm around his shoulder and helped her stumble to the hospital. Once there, Pomfrey tutted at Hermione leading them to an empty bed, before summoning an ointment that she spread over her ankle.

“How in the world did you twist it so badly?”

Hermione blushed.

The matron pursed her lips. “Well, the ointment should stave off any further swelling, but you’ll have a limp for a few days.”

“Thank you.”

She nodded, turning away from them and returning to her duties.

Malfoy smirked down at her as she tried rolling her sock back up, and stepped towards her, pausing for a moment and taking hold of a springy curl, watching in rapt fascination when it flipped back over and in front of Hermione’s face

“My hair is annoying,” Hermione said drily.

“I’m sure it is. Lively too. Sort of like you.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes. “It’s too bad it can’t attack you.”

He chuckled and then stepped forward again. “My breathing would beg to differ when I’m trying to breathe and your hair is trying to suffocate me

Hermione blushed and looked away at his devastating grin. Pomfrey suddenly swerved from one of the beds to them. “Miss Granger, are you alright?”

Hermione blinked. “Yes?”

“I cast a charm to monitor your heart rate and it suddenly rose, but you seem fine so—” she cut off, and then looked between the two of them. “Oh! I see. Carry on then you two.” The usually stern matron gave Hermione a knowing look before walking back to her office. Hermione turned to Draco, only to find him looking away from her, his cheeks and neck flushed.

Right. He knew she had feelings for him and was embarrassed by it. She was such a fool. Hermione stood up from the bed, forgetting her injury and with a cry started falling forward. Malfoy was there in an instant, steadying her by grabbing her arms.

“Easy,” he admonished, setting her back down, but she pushed him away. Favouring her uninjured foot, she grabbed her beaded bag and started walking away.

Malfoy grabbed her arm. “Granger, wait. I’ll help you walk to class.”

“No need,” she snapped.

He dropped his hand and glared at her. “What’s with you?”

She gave a sharp laugh and felt her throat tighten when she gulped. “I just don’t get why you care if I’m hurt or not.”

He frowned, his brows pulling together.

“It’s just sex.”

Malfoy flinched, taking a step back, and she could see the hurt in his eyes as an angry red flush crept up his neck and his jaw tightened.

Hermione was suddenly confused. She didn’t—it was just sex, right?

“I see,” he said in a clipped tone.

She didn’t—Hermione grabbed the sleeve of his shirt. “Hold on, I—”

“You don’t have to explain, Granger. You’ve made it perfectly clear where we stand.”

He ripped his arm away and walked away without another word, leaving Hermione standing alone in the infirmary.

Pomfrey popped her head out again. “Dear, your heart rate is now getting concerningly high,” she said, unhelpfully.

* * *

Hermione didn’t understand. So naturally, she spent the time she needed to be sleeping thinking back on every interaction the two of them had this past year. Malfoy had been more distant in their eighth year. He barely talked to anyone, even his housemates. She was honestly shocked they’d picked him for Head Boy, but resigned herself to working with him.

The problem was that she didn’t have many other experiences to compare the one’s with Malfoy to. Sure, she’d been intimate with others before, but Malfoy wasn’t someone she could define in one single word. He was attentive, unnervingly so. She would catch him looking at her intently but never thought anything of it. He’s always been an observer, and he likely looked at her for more reasons than one. Suspicion, curiosity, desire. Any of his myriad expressions could have been because of those reasons. And if it was desire, he certainly didn’t rebuke her when she’d kiss him or climb on top of him once they were alone.

He was smart and observant. He knew when she was running herself ragged and would make her take breaks. Once, he even took her half prone form from the library and practically dragged her to bed, tucking the covers over her like she was a burrito, warning her to go to sleep. She’d always assumed it was because he didn’t want her stress to affect him. He couldn’t have done it because he cared about her. Could he?

Hermione shook her head. It wasn’t possible. He was...Malfoy. It didn’t make any logical sense why he would look at her as anything more than a distraction. She rubbed her temples, feeling a headache setting in, and decided to think about it more later. She left her room and came to their shared common room, but he wasn’t there. He must’ve left early. She felt a weird twisting in her chest after being used to them leaving together.

She arrived at the Heads office, but Malfoy’s shock of white-blond hair wasn’t there either. She furrowed her brows, setting her bag on the desk, and found a note from him telling her that all of the morning duties were finished and that he’d distributed the new schedules.

Hermione’s lips pursed. If that arrogant little ferret thought he could just dismiss her. She ignored the painful twisting in her chest and stomped to her first class.

A regrettable decision. Her ankle was throbbing for the rest of the day.

* * *

He avoided her all day. Not that she didn’t see him, oh she did. They were in the same Advanced Runes and Charms classes together and had taken to sitting beside each other all year. Hermione didn’t know why, it just seemed to happen once they started having sex. It shouldn’t have hurt her so much when he sat at a desk by himself in both classes instead, leaving Hermione to sit with an unimpressed Pansy Parkinson.

“You’re both idiots,” the black-haired pure-blood said, but before Hermione could ask what she meant, the class started, and she ignored Hermione once more.

Hermione tried catching Malfoy when he was heading down to the Quidditch pitch for practice, his admittedly excellent physique tied up in his tight Quidditch uniform, but his bloody long legs made it difficult for her to catch up, especially because her ankle was still hurting.

“Ow,” she suddenly yelped when she attempted to follow after him across the courtyard, falling to the ground in a heap. She gave a low whine as she tried to soothe the aching tendon.

“You’re an idiot,” came a low snarl above her.

She looked up, squinting in the afternoon sun, to see Malfoy glaring down at her.

“Yes, well, if you stopped ignoring me and had stopped, I wouldn’t have fallen now would I?” she snapped.

He scowled but crouched in front of her to inspect her injury.

Hermione felt the rising anger in her when she remembered he’d been avoiding her all day and batted his hands away. “It’s fine,” she said icily, hunching away from him.

She saw his fists clench and looked up at him. His lips were pressed into a thin line and his jaw was clenched. “I’m not leaving you sprawled on the ground, Granger?”

She raised a brow. “Yes well, you’ve been avoiding me all day. You might as well be consistent.”

“Don’t be childish.”

“You first!”

A moment passed.

“That wasn’t my finest insult, I’ll admit.”

He gave her a sardonic grin. “Gryffindor and all.”

She rolled her eyes and tried standing up, and though she was rather successful at standing straight she suddenly tipped backwards, and would have surely fallen on her arse if not for the arm Malfoy snaked around her waist.

Hermione’s cheeks heated, and she tried to extricate herself. Malfoy tightened his arm around her for one more moment before moving his hand to her elbow, steadying her.

“Thanks,” she said awkwardly.

“Yeah,” he replied, looking away, his cheekbones tinged with pink.

“Are you done ignoring me now?”

“I’m not ignoring you.”

She scoffed.

He pressed his lips together, frowning, his easy expression morphing back into that doom and gloom that must've been a Malfoy genetic trait. “I’m going to be late for practice.”

“Right,” she said, practically ripping his hand from her arm, feeling frustrated tears building behind her eyes. She’d never been so frustrated with another person, but Malfoy seemed to perfect the skill when it came to her. “Then go off to practice. I can’t believe I thought—” but stopped herself

“What,” he said, stepping forward. “Can’t believe you thought what?”

“Nothing.” She moved away from him, but he caught her arm and forced her to face him.

“You are the most impossible witch I have ever met,” he yelled suddenly.

“Well, you are the most childish, sorry excuse for a wizard I’ve ever met!”

He raised his brow, unimpressed, and if Hermione wasn’t so angry she’d be embarrassed at the display the both of them were making. As it was, there were other people in the courtyard staring at them with gaping faces.

“If you didn’t want to be with me, you should've just told me instead of making me think I could—” he stopped, his breath coming in rapid pants.

Hermione felt her heart pound painfully in her chest. “Could what?”

“Be with you!” His cheeks were red, and she could see his vulnerability openly now. His wide grey eyes, his tight jaw, his frown. “That even if I wasn’t good enough for you, that you chose to be with me because you thought I maybe could be one day.”

There was a story once, of a ferret and an otter, and how they both moved in opposing directions from each other in a small world, before finally arriving at the same point, and plunged headfirst into the other. Hermione could move away, could not do the work it would take for their meeting to be gentle, or she could admit what she felt for him, which was an unerring, devastating want, and move towards him.

“Draco,” she interrupted, halting whatever babbling tirade he had started on. He shut his mouth, pressing his lips together as he stared at her like she had the power to break everything inside him.

“Let’s talk privately.” He must’ve heard the pleading in her voice because he nodded. She walked, and after a few moments felt his long strides catch up to her.

“Is the Quidditch locker room empty?”

“No. But the broom shed is.”

“Good enough,” Hermione said as they entered the space, sniffing the scent of wood and bristles from the brooms stacked on a shelf.

She moved to one of the benches and sat down, crossing her legs and beckoning Draco to sit down beside her.

“I didn’t know you had feelings for me,” she finally said after several minutes.

“You’re an idiot.”

She snapped her head to him. “Oh, so I assume you knew I had feelings for you too, then?”

Malfoy’s eyes widened. “You—”

She scowled. “I will cede that we’re both idiots, then.”

He seemed to be lost in thought, standing up and pacing to the door before coming back to Hermione and lifting her by the arms, staring intently in her eyes. “You never made it clear that you had feelings.”

“Neither did you,” she whispered.

He shook his head. “I’m selfish. Always have been. I don’t do things for people because I have a good heart. Everything I’ve done for you is because I’m in love with you, you daft bint.”

Hermione’s breath caught, and before she could yell at him for calling her daft she was reaching for him, placing her hand on his jaw and leaning up on her tiptoes to kiss him. Draco responded immediately, wrapping his arms around her waist and lifting her clear off the ground.

Her voice felt weak, but she trudged on. “I’m in love with you, too.”

Hermione felt Draco’s shaky breath against her mouth as he nodded. He moved towards a table and set her on top of it; they tore at each other’s clothes. Hermione’s eyes openly admired the way his body looked up close in his uniform. It was almost a shame to have to take it off.

Draco lifted her chin to him, curious. “I knew you always had a thing for Quidditch players.”

“You don’t say,” she deadpanned.

“Well, you always badger on about how barbaric of a sport it is.”

She hummed. “I never said all desire was intellectual.”

“Are you calling me an idiot?”

She nodded gravely, smiling when he narrowed his eyes at her.

She took his face in her hands and kissed him once more, wrapping her legs around his waist as she rapidly removed the fastenings of his uniform.

Draco muttered against her neck, lips skidding down the column of her throat as he removed her outer robe. She threw her head back and moaned when he snaked a hand up her shirt and played with her breast over her bra and reached down into the cup, pinching her nipple’s.

She jerked his trousers open, wrapping her hand around him and squeezed.

“Fuck.” He jerked against her, grabbed a hold of her thighs and dragged her to the edge of the table parting her before him. She helped him remove her underwear, before sliding his fingers into her already wet folds. With a nod from her, he slid inside her with a tortured groan and started a punishing pace.

She would’ve taken more of an active role by thrusting her legs against his back, but drew a painful breath when she tried. “Sorry, my ankle,” she said, but this was no issue for Draco, who lifted her bodily, holding all of her weight with his chest as he moved them to the wall next to the table. His hand slammed beside her head as he thrust inside her, and she was thrilled for the loss of his control. She nudged his nose with hers, opening her eyes to see him already staring at her, devastating want mixed with hazy desire. She took a hold of his chin and pressed her mouth, body, and mind to his searingly; he returned it.

The otter and the ferret seemed to finally stop diverging, and they met in the middle.

Apparently, the middle was a broom shed, and Hermione thought with a smile, that she might like Quidditch after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Come join me on tumblr! Simplifiedemotions.tumblr.com
> 
> Weestarmeggie is a badass mofo. <3


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